


Too Damn Late

by DoesntMakeYouAGenius



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Emotional pain, I was having a bad day, I'm Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-10 00:45:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2004360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoesntMakeYouAGenius/pseuds/DoesntMakeYouAGenius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>DI Lewis is kidnapped during a case, Hathaway goes to rescue him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Damn Late

**Author's Note:**

> I was having a really awful day, and my mind went to death and destruction, and this happened. I'm kinda sorry, kinda not. Don't hate me, don't read if you're feeling down.

Lewis struggled at his restraints. 

He was in the back of a van, on his side, being bounced awkwardly along a winding road. He assumed that he had been kidnapped by the killer in his and Hathaway's latest murder case, the man who had killed six men, the only link between them being that they were all male, and their bodies had all been found in and around a beaten down shack. The first had been inside, and when that was roped off as a crime scene, the second had been dumped just outside, then the third on the other side, and so on. They were all aged between 17 and 23, and Lewis assumed he was here because he had been so close to finding the killer.

He had only just parted ways with Hathaway, leaving the pub after one pint and a promise to have the killer caught tomorrow. He had nipped down an alleyway, cutting the length of his walk home, and on turning the corner had been knocked off his feet and tied up, then bundled into the back of the same van he was in presently before he could even consider calling for help. 

It was highly unlikely that anyone would check in on him between now and tomorrow morning if he didn't turn up for work. By which time, unless he was a hostage, (which he highly doubted), he would be dead.

Lewis renewed his efforts at the cord around his wrists, which had left a bloody gash on each of his arms. The tie on his ankles was less urgent, as it wasn't cutting off the blood supply to his feet. Scrabbling at the tough rope, Lewis hoped help would come soon.

***

James Hathaway arrived at home from the pub. He still had a clear mind, after only one pint, so he walked briskly up the path in near total darkness and reached for his keys, which weren't in their usual pocket.

He checked both trouser pockets, then the pockets of his jacket and coat, but no luck. He swore under his breath, the house key was on the same ring as the car key, and Lewis had been driving that day. The DI must have accidentally kept the keys after he parked the car at the station before they walked to the pub.

Hathaway checked all the doors, but, as he had expected, they were all locked. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and sat on the doorstep before dialling his boss' number. He got no reply, so tried his mobile, which he knew his boss kept on at all times.

Lewis' phone, lying cracked in a corner of the road, vibrated with an incoming call.

Hathaway tried three times to reach his boss by mobile, but got no answer. Checking the doors one last time, Hathaway set off for Lewis' house. He had no other choice, it was that or sleep on the lawn.

The night was cold, Hathaway's breath misting in front of him. He pulled his coat tighter around himself and walked more quickly. It was five minutes' walk from Hathaway's house to Lewis', and Hathaway was grateful for this fact as he knocked on the familiar door.

He shifted from foot to foot, then knocked again. No reply. Hathaway stopped shuffling and frowned. Odd.

Maybe Lewis hadn't heard him. He knocked again, more forcefully, hoping to catch Lewis' attention, but there was still no reply. It had been a while since he'd left the pub, Hathaway doubted he'd still be on his way home, but the blond man decided to retrace his boss' theoretical steps home, in the hope of stumbling upon him.

He walked briskly; the night was getting chillier, and though he had a good coat on, Hathaway was starting to get cold. He followed the winding pavement towards the pub on the same route he decided his boss would have taken. The speed of his pace meant he almost missed it; settled in the dim illumination of a streetlight as Hathaway prepared to turn into the alley where he had last seen Lewis.

A mobile phone.

The screen was cracked and the phone was face down, as if dropped by a careless walker. Years on the police force meant Hathaway caught sight of it when the street lamp reflected off it, sending a bright flash into the corner of his vision. 

Crouching, Hathaway retrieved it and tried the on button. It looked like Lewis' phone, but it wasn't one in a million. The phone came to life wearily, sleepily informing Hathaway that he had three missed calls from himself. Definitely Lewis' phone, then.

Hathaway's mind was beginning to conjure possibilities, even if he knew the DI wasn't at home or on his way there, the sergeant knew that Lewis wouldn't just drop his phone and not notice, he would at least hear the clatter on a late night in near silence. So it was possible - more than possible; likely, his brain interjected - that Lewis had been abducted, probably with link to their current case. Lewis had said they were close to cracking the bastard, maybe said bastard had worked out just how close Lewis was, and decided to get rid of him.

In that case, he could be just about anywhere. But there was one place Hathaway thought his boss could have been taken, and he knew that if he went with his gut, he may possibly save his boss' life. He had to use his initiative.

Their killer had done one thing wrong, and that was let a pattern leak into his work. All the bodies had been found in the same place. With a bit of luck, Hathaway hoped, he would be on his way there. The only issue, Hathaway didn't have a car.

He ran, a flat out sprint, to the station, bursting through the door, and instructing the desk sergeant that he needed a car. Now. DI Lewis was in trouble, and Hathaway didn't have time to deal with the worried looking sergeant.

"Please, let me use your car." He asked. "A detective inspector is in trouble, I need to help him. Call backup, tell them to head for the crime scene at Sowerberry Close."

Finally responding to the urgency in Hathaway's tone, the sergeant handed over his keys, informing Hathaway that it was the red Renault, then picked up the phone and started making calls efficiently. Hathaway didn't have time to waste, he may already have been too late.

***

Lewis was almost through his restraints, though his wrists were bleeding badly, when the van came to a halt and the back doors were flung open. A torch beam centred on Lewis' face, causing him to flinch at the harsh contrast from the pitch darkness he had previously been submerged in. Out of sight of his captor, he continued to work at the rope binding him.

A pair of large, strong hands gripped Lewis' shoulders and hauled him to his feet and, though he dug in his heels, began dragging him into the woods. 

Lewis struggled as he was taken away from the van, and earned himself a punch that shot sparks in his vision and left him reeling. Though Lewis thought he was putting up a decent fight, he was pulled inexorably into the shadows.

***

Hathaway shot down country roads, having memorised the route from the previous six times he had travelled to a crime scene in the vicinity. The little Renault was much more agile than his pool car, so he was able to hit ridiculous speeds on the winding labyrinth of narrow lanes.

He knew time was vital; every second he lost was a second closer to whatever the murderer had planned for Lewis. Reaching the edge of the woods, Hathaway realised that his boss could be anywhere in them, this was in the killer's MO.

He howled up a path that bisected the woods and skidded to a halt, leaping out of the car almost before it had stopped. There, parked, was a large black van with its back doors flung open. Leading from the van into the hollow darkness were a series of grooves, as if made by heels dug into the ground.

Hathaway knew he was in the right place, and he knew Lewis was still conscious when he had arrived here, judging by the struggle he had put up. 

Turning up the collar of his black coat, Hathaway silently started to follow the tracks. 

Periodically, they stopped, and Hathaway couldn't work out why, but they continued consistently enough that he could follow them easily. When he heard sounds, he slowed and circled the scene.

***

The man swung a fist like a hammer into Lewis' jaw, and he staggered, pitching over onto the damp leaves. His mind fuzzed, but he shook it to restore some clarity and made to get up. 

Kneeling up, Lewis looked at his captor, trying to ignore the warm blood he felt trickling down the side of his face and off his chin.

The killer pulled his gun and pointed it down at Lewis. 

***

Hathaway moved in the shadows; he had one chance at saving his boss and hopefully not being killed in the process. As he had arrived behind inspector Lewis, he was privy to the fact that Lewis had freed himself from the bonds on his wrists. His captor had no idea.

Hathaway had moved around the scene, until he was behind the killer. He was confident Lewis had seen him, and was trying not to let on.

So Hathaway set his harebrained plan into action.

***

Lewis caught sight of his sergeant and immediately averted his gaze; I wouldn't do either of them any good to give away his position. He wondered what Hathaway's plan might be, and immediately worried that he would end up in the line of fire.

"You keep getting in the way, inspector Lewis. I have to remove you, like I removed all of the others." Lewis' captor spoke, and as he levelled the gun Hathaway saw his chance.

Hathaway rushed from the shadows and leapt onto the larger man's back, sending his first and second shots at Lewis wayward. Lewis staggered to his feet to aid his sergeant, but was disorientated and bruised. This left him unable to help as the killer swivelled his hand and fired the gun twice at point blank range into Hathaway's stomach.

Hathaway loosened his grip, and the killer threw him off backwards. Thankfully, Lewis was then able to lunge at him, wrestling the gun from his grip and hurling it away. With his attention on Hathaway, the brute was completely exposed to the smashing blow Lewis brought down on the back of his head. He crumpled.

Lewis' police training meant the blow wouldn't have killed him, but knocked him out cold for a while.

Hathaway lay on his back, splayed where the killer (Lewis identified him as Jack Phillips, number one on their suspect list) had thrown him. Lewis stumbled to his side and held his blond head.

"Hathaway, lad, talk to me." Lewis tried to engage his sergeant.

"Sir." Hathaway bit out a short reply. On his shirt, Lewis could see a crimson stain blossoming out from two deep punctures in his side.

"You've got to stay with me, lad. Did you call backup?"

"Yes. Sir, your head..." Hathaway's voice was brittle and hushed. Lewis searched his sergeant's pockets for a mobile phone.

"Will mend. How did you find me?" Lewis tried to keep Hathaway's attention away from the pain he was obviously in.

"Forgot. Keys. You. Didn't. Answer. Phone." Hathaway took a breath between each word, struggling as the darkness smudged his vision.

"Daft git." Lewis smiled. "I ought to thank you, though." He dialled the station. "Officer down, require urgent medical attention." He relayed their location to a bleary desk sergeant, help was on its way.

"You're very welcome, sir." Hathaway whispered, trailing off. His eyelids drooped, fluttering delicately, like butterflies' wings against his high cheekbones.

"Stay with me, lad, stay with me." Lewis gently shook Hathaway's head, not jostling the savage wounds in his side.

"Not going to pull through, this time, sir." Hathaway rasped out.

"Don't be ridiculous. You'll be fine." Lewis himself was starting to worry, there was no sign of Hathaway's backup, or an ambulance.

"Thank you, sir. For taking care of me. I couldn't have, asked for, a better governor." Hathaway's voice was starting to desert him.

"Stop it, James. You're going to recover from this just fine. I just need you to hold on for a little longer." Where the hell was backup? Where was the ambulance, wailing up the forest track?

"Promise me something, sir." Hathaway gripped Lewis' arm, urgency fuelling his dwindling voice."Don't give this up. What happened here was my fault, don't blame yourself. Get back on your horse, enjoy the rest of your life, with Laura, and Lynn. Give them my best, won't you, sir?"

Lewis knew better than to deny it, now, the ambulance was going to be too late, there was nothing to be done. Those were the words of a man who knows they will be his last. "Aye, lad. I'll do that." He murmured softly.

"Thank you, sir." Hathaway smiled shortly, and the pain ebbed out of his features. His eyes fixed on the canopy over Lewis' head and misted over, and Detective Sergeant James Hathaway of Oxford Police breathed out for the last time. 

Lewis bowed his head over the limp figure in his arms, silent in a moment of respect for the man who shouldn't have died, so young, so inexperienced, with so much promise of a prosperous life ahead. The moment was broken by the mournful cry of a siren, not too far off.

"Too late." Lewis spat, bitterly. "Too damn late."


End file.
